


Stranded

by fluffssnowflake (theyneeddrying)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 18:47:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theyneeddrying/pseuds/fluffssnowflake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Merlin and Arthur find themselves in a tight spot, they get help from an unexpected source.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stranded

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the 2011 round of [Merlin Holidays](http://merlin-holidays.livejournal.com/). It's canon compliant up to the end of S4, and then diverges from current canon.

The beasts come from the north, breaking free from the ocean in an explosion of water; their wings stretch out over the skies and pour shadows over the land that melt together and spread like spilled ink, leaving indelible stains.

And they're headed for Camelot.

*

They travel to the very edge of the kingdom, riding hard until Merlin's clenching his teeth at his horse's every uneven step, but there isn't a trace of the beasts yet.

In Camelot, the people are holding their breath, news travelling faster than any pair of wings.

"Perhaps they've decided to head for Mercia, sire, and to leave Camelot be," Leon suggests, uncertain.

"I wouldn't count on that," says Arthur. "Remember to keep your eyes peeled for any weaknesses we can exploit. And try to find out how many of them there are."

And so they continue to wait.

*

The first time Merlin faces one of them, its deep green eyes narrowed in fury, he tries to speak to it in the Dragon tongue. Next, he tries the spell that defeated the Questing Beast, followed by five others he's prepared for the occasion.

Then, he runs for his life.

*

There's three of them, they determine eventually.

"Yeah, I definitely count three," says Gwaine, wry, looking each of the beasts in the eye as they surround the group of armed men, smelling prey.

"Well, it was an honour fighting beside you lads," says Elyan, gripping his sword and tilting his head as though trying to decide how to cause as much damage as possible on his way out.

"We're not dead yet," Percival grunts, possibly not having realised that yes, really, the beasts are much bigger than him.

"We're not giving up without a fight," Arthur says. "We have a duty to Camelot. All we need to do is find their weak spot," even though the last time a sword was thrust at them, it was the blade that broke.

Merlin wonders frantically if beating the creatures around the head with a tree would help.

The last thing he expects is for one of the beasts to shriek and wobble; there's the flash of sunlight on a blade and golden hair, and then they're all ducking for their lives as the leader of the pack runs off into the heart of the forest, wounded, its companions on its tail.

An odd silence follows; they all stare at the new arrival, who's cleaning his sword on the grass as though stabbing enormous beasts with impenetrable skin is all in a day's work.

"Who on earth are you?" Arthur asks, which Merlin thinks is a surprisingly apt question.

"I'm Arthur," the stranger says, smirking, "also known as King Arthur of Camelot. You may have heard of me."

*

"So you're – from the future," Arthur says one more time, seemingly stuck on this one little detail. Merlin can't say he blames him.

And yet, there he is, the spitting image of the Arthur he knows, looking maybe ten years older, sprawling on his chair as though it were a throne and he owned it, a familiar-looking sword lying on the table in front of him. Merlin feels his throat click every time his gaze lands on it.

He's been trying to catch the man's eye for a while now, to no avail; he thinks of Arthur's growing suspicion of sorcerers, of Dragoon, and something cold and uncomfortable settles in along his spine.

"More to the point, so are Morgana's little pets," older Arthur replies. "And, as I said, I know how to vanquish them; the people will soon be safe again. I'll ride out at first light tomorrow."

"Of course. I'll be ready, " Arthur says, still looking a little rattled. "I'll have a message passed on to the knights."

"There's no need. I can handle them on my own, and you'll be of more use here. You should probably have the knights organise a perimeter around the city, just in case."

"…Right. Look, I'm sure you're a fabulous warrior" – Merlin can't quite help snorting at that – " _but_ ," Arthur glares before continuing, "there is no shame in accepting some help. It'll be a dangerous journey."

"I'll be fine. I've dealt with these creatures before. Oh, but one thing – I trust you won't mind if I borrow Merlin? I'll need someone to carry my bags."

"Merlin?" says Arthur, as though the mere idea is absurd, and after a few beats, Merlin says, "I – I'm still your servant?"

"Of course," older Arthur replies, the smile lines around his mouth deepening, "You didn't think I'd got rid of you, did you?" He claps him on the shoulder hard enough to send him reeling.

"Right." Merlin forces himself to smile; it hurts right down to his bones.

*

"Ready?" is all the older Arthur says before they enter the forest.

Merlin ended up attending to him in his chambers the night before; he was far less talkative than the Arthur he's used to, but that suited Merlin just fine. He didn't seem unusually tense around Merlin, after all, but then he supposed Arthur wouldn't be, given the circumstances.

"We'd better come up with an attack strategy before we run into them," Arthur says an hour later, quirking his mouth at Merlin.

"What do I know, I'm just a servant," he mutters, looking up at the tree cover. It seems to mock him; since last night, he's started to feel trapped, like he can't quite breathe. "And just so you know, I'm _not_ playing bait this time."

Arthur stares at him for a moment, then throws his head back and laughs, heartily.

"Merlin, I'd forgotten what an idiot you used to be."

"I'm glad I still amuse you," Merlin says, feeling his temper rise further, but it stutters to a halt when Arthur hands him a roll of parchment. He recognises the handwriting, and blinks before reading on.

"It's a spell," he says, his hands shaking.

"Well, I'm glad someone can read your handwriting," Arthur says, still looking amused. "And you'd better study that fast, because I don't think they passed through here very long ago."

"… So I'm not your servant anymore, then?" Merlin replies, relief making his heart thud loudly.

Arthur snorts. "As though you ever really were."

*

The spell, as it turns out, is damned complicated, which is why Arthur ends up trying to hold off the creature they've tracked down, slashing at it while ducking fast to avoid getting slashed. The situation is looking pretty dire.

Merlin mutters the spell again, and to the left, a tree bursts into flames.

"I can't do this!" he says, tugging at his hair. "I'm sorry. Sire, we should run and – "

"Yes, you can, Merlin. I know you can; I've seen you do it. Focus! Ugh," he huffs, getting a tail to the head for his efforts and crashing to the ground. "Now would be a good time," he adds, sounding dazed, as the beast lifts a clawed paw.

Merlin takes a deep breath and gives it his everything, feels the hot rush of magic under his skin, and then the creature is staggering, dizzy, nearly crushes Arthur after all, except for the part where Arthur thrusts his sword up into its belly, and then rolls away quickly just before the forest soil quakes under too much weight.

"Some things never change," Arthur grimaces after, holding his head.

Then he looks down at the lifeless form at his feet and a grin slowly unfurls on his face. "Well done, Merlin," he says, reaching out, and Merlin braces himself for another slap to his shoulder; he nearly overbalances when Arthur curls a warm hand around his neck instead, and pulls him into a hug. It lasts at least two whole seconds. Merlin shivers a little when Arthur’s breath tickles his skin as he says, "I hope you're ready for the next two, because I think this one was the little brother."

*

"Nhhhg," Arthur mutters, rolling away and curling around a pillow. Ten years of being the king haven't made him any less of a lazy sod in the mornings, apparently.

"Time to get up," Merlin says, cheerful. "Or I could pour this jug of water over your head, if you prefer."

"Excuse me, I've just slain three of the most vicious beasts ever to attack Camelot – I think that deserves a lie in." It comes out muffled by the pillow.

"I think you'll find that was me. And since Gaius made me get up specifically so I could tend to you, I don't see why _you_ should get to stay in bed."

"I think you'll find that was _us_ ," Arthur says, turning around, and gestures at the bruises all down his chest. "And doesn't your Arthur need tending to?"

" _My_ Arthur?" He shakes his head. "He's out training the knights, but apparently you specifically requested my assistance for the duration of your stay."

"My mistake," Arthur huffs, rubbing his eyes.

"Yes, it is. By the way, how long _are_ you staying?" Merlin says, curious, laying out breakfast; he might have raided the kitchen with a little more enthusiasm than usual.

He's getting really good at avoiding Cook's wooden spoon, too.

"Desperate to get rid of me? Well, that depends on you, Merlin." Arthur stretches lazily.

"Me?"

"Yes, frightening, I know. You see, you managed to adapt Morgana's spell to get me here. Unfortunately, there was no return spell. So you're still figuring that part out."

"And you couldn't have sent someone else?" Merlin says, exasperated.

"Well, let's see – we needed Excalibur to finish the creatures off, and someone, well, _I_ would trust with you, and you had to stay to do the spell, so, hm, no. You're stuck with me. Congratulations, it's been a while since I've been subjected to such terrible service. Now let me get back to sleep, preferably until I get hauled back."

"Excalibur?" Merlin laughs. "You named it? Of course you named your magical sword," he says, rolling his eyes. "And this is the part where I drag you out of bed, by the way."

"You – " Arthur splutters as Merlin starts pulling at him.

Merlin doesn't quite expect to end up wrestling with Arthur on the floor, using his magic to pull every dirty trick he can think of to gain the upper hand, but by the time Gwen knocks on the door, alarmed by the noise, Merlin's laughing too hard to even hear it.

*

"How's he treating you?"

Merlin's back in familiar surroundings, having left their guest to his own devices and cleaning Arthur's armour in the royal chambers; it seems George requested the afternoon off, and Merlin's never liked sitting alone in the armoury, no matter how much Arthur complains about filth on his table.

"He's… you. How do you think he's treating me?" Merlin's polishing the metal plate in rapid, smooth motions, as per George's instructions. "Bullies me all the time, tells me I can't do anything right…" He sighs, put-upon. "Arthur, I’m joking," he says, when Arthur just stares at him strangely. "He's fine. I'm having fun serving him, if anything."

"Fun? Well, now I definitely know something's wrong with him. And some of us have actual work to do instead of entertaining you," he adds, scowling at the parchment in front of him.

"Sorry…," Merlin huffs, laughing. "Is that what's getting to you? Too much work? You've been in a terrible mood all week."

"You've barely seen me all week!" Arthur glares. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

Merlin feels his eyebrows go up, amusement – and maybe something else, too – quirking the corners of his mouth. "Do you… miss me?" he says, leaning in a bit over the table.

Arthur snorts loudly. "You? It's been blessedly quiet, if you must know," he says, and starts scribbling furiously.

Merlin purses his mouth, trying not to laugh. "So those brass jokes are growing on you, then?"

The quill stops. "They just take some getting used to. They're hilarious, really, but I don't expect you to understand the – finer aspects of humour." He clears his throat. "I'm fine. We're fine. Without you. In fact, once you're done with that, you can have the rest of the afternoon off."

"Thanks," Merlin says, slightly taken aback, and continues working for a while, trying to think of some way to cheer Arthur up.

"I do wonder – how stupid is he? Maybe you shouldn't spend too much time with him, Merlin – it might be catching," Arthur says a little later.

"… What?" Merlin says, confused, and continues rubbing distractedly.

"Well, he's supposedly waiting for someone to design a spell that will take him back – but we're talking about a sorcerer. What if he never gets taken back? Only an idiot would trust a sorcerer like that."

"You do realise you're talking about yourself, don’t you?" Merlin says, ignoring the way his chest suddenly feels hollow. "And I don't know. Maybe you've grown wiser and realised not all sorcerers are bad. Maybe it's someone you trust. A friend," he adds quietly.

"Don't be ridiculous. I'd never be friends with a sorcerer. No, you’d definitely better watch out, Merlin," Arthur says, and then Merlin stops listening. He thought it would hurt less, now he knows what's to come, but apparently, he couldn't have been more wrong.

*

After, he spends as much time as he can in the guest chambers, soaking up Arthur's smiles and teases, trying out little spells in front of him just because he can, until the bruised feeling in his chest eases up.

It's strange how much the older version looks and acts like the younger one, and yet isn't quite the same. This Arthur's quieter, more confident but less arrogant, his features sharper. And most of all, this Arthur knows him, and it makes Merlin’s heart sick to think of the other – of his Arthur in contrast. Not that knowing him stops Arthur from teaching him chess even as he yawns emphatically.

"You'll learn to like it, I promise," Arthur laughs.

"Do we play a lot, then?" Merlin says, the heat from the logs he just threw on soaking his skin and his bones, and making him lazy.

"Hm, you could say that," Arthur says, carefully moving his knight. "I know what we can do," he continues when Merlin persists in looking unimpressed. "Let's go hunting tomorrow."

"You're not serious," Merlin glares, head snapping up, feeling some of the comfortable heat slip away.

"Of course I am. You clearly need some fresh air; it'll be perfect."

"Perfect for me to run after you with the hunting gear," he grumbles.

"As long as you don't stab me with it, I'm sure we'll manage," Arthur says, amused, and Merlin can't help but laugh, throwing one of the small pawns at Arthur's head, until it turns into a battle that has little to no resemblance to chess.

*

That night, Merlin catches him looking wistfully at the younger Arthur and Gwen when they have a friendly bicker over whether the chicken they're having is better than the one from that time Arthur supposedly cooked it.

"It tasted better at first because I thought you'd made it," Gwen argues, "but as it turns out, it was just the taste of dishonesty." She mock-glares.

"I'll make it up to you," Arthur says, "I'll cook us a meal tomorrow – you have my word."

"Please don't," older Arthur interjects, "you'll end up poisoning poor Guinevere." Gwen laughs when Arthur looks offended. "Merlin will back me up on this. Won't you, Merlin?” older Arthur continues, “Please inform me of what an atrocious cook I am."

"Oh, yeah," Merlin says, barely looking at younger Arthur. "You're abysmal." His smile still feels a little brittle, and he thinks both Arthurs might be giving him an odd look; but then the moment passes and they're back to ribbing the king.

*

"So you and Gwen," Merlin says the next day, walking beside Arthur along the forest path and carrying one of the two bags they have with them.

"What about us," Arthur says, cocking his head as if to listen for prey in the exact same way Merlin's seen him do a hundred times before, and avoiding Merlin's gaze.

Merlin grins. "Well, do you get married and live happily ever after?"

"… We get married. And, yes, I suppose, in a way – well, I hope so, in any case. Because happily ever after? I'm not that close to dead yet, Merlin."

"You don't sound terribly convinced." Merlin frowns.

"I think somebody would've noticed if I were dead," he answers, deadpan.

"Arthur..." Merlin barely resists rolling his eyes.

Arthur stops walking and looks at him, a stray beam of sunlight making his eyes a bright, pale blue. "Gwen and I find our way, eventually. It just – takes us a while to get there. Or maybe to get there again, I'm not sure." He smiles faintly, looking wistful.

"You seem pretty happy right now, from what I can tell," Merlin says, inclining his head in the general direction of the castle.

"We are. And we will be, just not quite in the way we'd thought. But as a wise man once asked me, does it really matter? I know Guinevere is happy where she is right now. And I can't complain too much, myself," he adds, some trace of humour returning to his voice.

"Sounds complicated," Merlin says, unconvinced.

"Too complex for you, Merlin?" Arthur says, raising an eyebrow. "And since you're in a sharing mood, is this when you tell me why you're mad at me?"

"I'm not mad at you," Merlin huffs.

"Well, not me me, but, still, _me_."

Merlin rolls his eyes. "It's complicated," he says, and gets poked with a stick for his trouble.

*

It turns out the hunting trip doesn't involve any actual hunting. What it does involve is a quiet meal and a lot of water, mainly the water streaming down the river they're currently swimming in.

"I win!" Merlin exclaims.

"Only if you want to be a dishonourable cheat," Arthur says, wiping water out of his face, "You used magic!"

"Can't cheat when there's no rules, Arthur. Admit it, I've won."

Arthur glares. "Fine. You've won, just this once," he says and, in response to Merlin's victorious grin, "So I guess this means I'll have to get even, then?" Before Merlin can react, Arthur tackles him, his head slipping under the surface.

Arthur has him in a solid grip, but Merlin struggles as best he can to get back up, attempting to make the water swirl as he had earlier with Arthur's encouragement, but he's laughing too hard now, even as he starts to run out of air, to focus on the spell.

When he becomes frantic enough, Arthur lets him up just far enough that he can gasp in huge gulps of air, until he's regained enough breath to make a wave crash over them, which turns out not to be his best idea ever as Merlin ends up swallowing most of it while Arthur laughs uncontrollably. He can’t remember ever hearing Arthur laugh like that.

"Ass," Merlin says, still spluttering a bit. The fight leaves him, then, and he quiets in Arthur's grip, which in turn softens into something more like cradling, and lets himself float in the stream, his face half-pressed to Arthur's chest. He breathes, the smell of Arthur's skin familiar under the glistening layer of water.

*

After, Arthur swims away, looking a little flushed, saying he needs to practise if he can get beat by Merlin, of all people, and for a moment, Merlin shivers in the cold water. Then he decides to shape watery bubbles with his hands, just because he can, this deep into the forest.

"Nice," Arthur says when he swims close again, with just the faintest trace of awed joy, even though he must have seen Merlin do more impressive feats by now; he feels his face stretch into a ridiculous grin as he shows off, letting the bubbles dance around Arthur's head, bounce off Arthur's hand as he tries to catch them. He's laughing again, happy to be surrounded by Merlin's magic, basking in it, and quietly, something warm starts to bloom in Merlin's chest and slip under his skin, something perhaps a little bit like happiness.

"I don't want you to leave," he says, suddenly sad for the moment that will come, missing Arthur already in a way that shouldn't hurt quite so much.

"I'll still be right here, Merlin, just… a bit younger and more capable of keeping up with you," Arthur says, the moment broken.

Merlin feels his mouth curve into a crooked, unwilling smile. "It's really not the same. And what if – what if things turn out differently, after all? I mean," Merlin gestures helplessly with his hands, then stops, unable to explain how much he's come to need this in just a few days, how stupidly lonely he suddenly feels when he thinks of Arthur, the younger Arthur, _his_ Arthur. He wishes this Arthur had never come back in time to help them. He takes a shaky breath, feeling like an idiot, and turns around to walk towards the river bank.

"Merlin." Arthur follows right behind him, his hand warm on Merlin's hip when he tries to stop him from climbing out. " _Merlin_. Look at me. It's going to be all right, I promise. It's not going to be easy, not for either of us, and there's going to be a lot of shouting," he says with half a sad laugh, "and a lot of hurt. But it's you and me, Merlin. We wouldn't be able to give up even if we wanted to. You can't get rid of me that easily," he adds, cupping the side of Merlin's head to prevent him from turning away again, his thumb brushing Merlin's cheek, slipping wet and cool over hot skin. "I promise," he murmurs, searching Merlin's face until he gets a reluctant, disbelieving nod.

And then he kisses Merlin. Or, Arthur touches his mouth to his, anyway, a promise sealed, Merlin realises a few seconds too late, unable to resist pressing back, pressing closer, falling into Arthur, exploring the texture of Arthur's lips against his.

He pulls back, embarrassed, "Sorry," already out of his mouth before he can think of a proper excuse, because he's an idiot, and why would Arthur ever want to kiss him?

Except Arthur curls a hand behind Merlin's neck and does it again, leaning into him, their lips brushing, hesitant, sparking too much heat, too much need in the pit of Merlin's stomach. And Merlin has never been very good at containing his curiosity, at not following his heart even if it trips him down the deepest, darkest rabbit hole, so he tilts his head for a better angle, and goes for it.

"We shouldn't be doing this," Arthur says a little later, but he's holding Merlin's head still with both his hands, not letting him go, covering Merlin's mouth with little pecks and bites before letting his lips slide along skin to press them against a cheekbone, moving slowly back down deepen the kiss again, as though he wants to make sure Merlin understands whatever message he's trying to convey, wants to slip it under his skin.

And Merlin, Merlin's already half-gone, twisting in Arthur's grip and tugging at his hair just so can get more, so he can get closer, greedy for everything Arthur might be willing to offer; and maybe he can get Arthur to never let go.

He jumps when Arthur's hand brushes his stomach, pulls back to look down as it moves lower, forgetting to breathe when Arthur slides a fingertip very gently up the curve of his cock. The hand closes around him, its grip familiar and comfortable as Arthur squeezes him just tight enough to make his knees go weak, brushing his thumb over the head, and Merlin almost doesn't hear what Arthur says over the broken sound that falls from his throat.

"God, I've missed you. I miss you," he amends, his voice hoarse, "but you haven't changed that much," he adds, looking pleased with himself when Merlin bucks helplessly into his touch.

"… Oh," Merlin says, and it starts with realisation, then turns high with pleasure at the end, when Arthur slides a wet thumb over a nipple. " _Oh_."

It hits him, then, the reality of it sinking into his bones sticky-slow: the fond curve of Arthur's mouth, the way his hand sweeps down Merlin's side in such a familiar way, and Merlin – Merlin feels like he can't breathe at all, overwhelmed with something that feels strangely like belonging – like not being alone.

He wraps a leg around Arthur's and tugs, wanting the feeling of their bodies pressed together, wanting to see if they fit; he presses his face to Arthur's neck and breathes in, feeling Arthur lose some of his self-control and jerk his cock against Merlin's thigh.

Arthur ends up pressing him into the river bank as they rut against each other, his chest pressing Merlin down, while Merlin touches him anywhere he can, sliding his hands over Arthur's back, his arse, his thighs, desperately trying to pull them closer together; Arthur's breaths stutter over his neck, loud and hot and to the beat of the painful thudding of Merlin’s heart, occasionally interrupted by something that might sound like "'S going to be all right" if only he had enough presence of mind left to make out the words.

After, Merlin's arse is a little muddy, but he finds it difficult to care when he's lying boneless in the grass, one hand flung out over Arthur's stomach, slowly moving up and down to the rhythm of Arthur's breath.

*

"We shouldn't," Arthur tries half-heartedly, less than a day after they've come back, when he slips his fingers into Arthur's collar while he undresses him.

He's thought about it, on hot summer days with sweat glistening on Arthur's skin, and cold winter days when he could feel heat radiating from under thin clothes as he helped Arthur put his coat on. But it's no longer just about that; it's that he's never imagined such certainty that his touch would be welcomed, never imagined the trust in Arthur's eyes, for fear he might set his hopes too high, and if he's only allowed this for a short amount of time, he's going to damn well grab it with both hands and enjoy it.

"Why not?" Merlin says, pushing his hands under Arthur's shirt.

"I'm not supposed to do anything that could change the future," Arthur says, staring at Merlin's mouth.

"Why not?" he says again, sliding his fingers under Arthur's tunic to pull it off, brushing his fingers over the skin just above the waistband.

"Because you said so," he huffs, "you _tease_."

Merlin grins; says, "Too late for that, though, isn't it?" and uses his magic to flip Arthur onto the bed, laughing when Arthur splutters mock-indignantly, "A little respect for the elderly, please!" and lets Merlin settle himself in the intimate cradle of his thighs.

*

It turns out that Merlin gets a week, a week of pushing this Arthur who doesn't quite belong to him yet into alcoves and dark corners; of getting his dirty fingerprints all over Arthur's skin, spelling out words that might whisper to a magic strong enough to make him _stay, stay, please_ ; of having his moans caught safely in the curl of Arthur's hand where it's covering his mouth, and of discovering his own body under Arthur's touch.

A week of sleeping in the same bed with Arthur's warm hands all over him, sneaking into his own room in the mornings, and discovering all the places on Arthur's body that make him shiver. And the best part is that Arthur – Arthur lets him see it all; opens his eyes and his body and his mind, and lets Merlin explore and discover to his heart's content. Merlin never wants it to end, presses kisses to Arthur's skin until he's flushed all over, radiating enough heat to warm Merlin for the cold years to come.

He can't stop looking, touching, having and sharing, and he thinks it might be written all over his face, but he can't bring himself to care. Not even when there's a feast he needs to serve at, and if Arthur, the other Arthur, spends most of that night glaring at the back of his head while Merlin watches their future king gesture and laugh, he doesn't notice it.

The day he wakes up to cold sheets, he presses his face into Arthur's pillow and wraps his arms around his knees, and breathes, breathes.

*

"Well, it's about time he's gone," younger Arthur says the next time Merlin sees him. "One of me is quite enough."

"You've got that right," Merlin says, but right now he can't be bothered to put any heat behind the words.

"George," Arthur says, clapping the man on the shoulder, "thank you for your exemplary service, but I'm afraid I'm back to cold breakfasts and tepid bathwater." He sounds far too cheerful about it.

"Well, Merlin, my armour isn't going to clean itself. You'd better go and fetch it," he says, and Merlin notices the polishing cloth already laid out on the table.

Merlin sighs and walks out the door.

*

He spends three weeks missing Arthur. Three weeks where his bed feels cold, where he can't quite seem to feel warm, no matter how many logs he adds to the fire, where everything the Arthur's he's serving says rubs him the wrong way, because why can't he be like the other Arthur already? (And what – what if he never will be?)

He knows he keeps snapping at Arthur, and that Arthur's more than a little befuddled; he even manages to offend Gwen when she tries talking to him; Gaius' eyebrow seems permanently stuck a little higher than usual and Merlin, Merlin can't remember ever feeling so alone.

*

And then, one day, as he's slumped next to the training field, he looks up to find Leon in a yellow dress, while the other knights burst into laughter.

"Very funny," Leon says, long-suffering, pulling at a frilly sleeve, "And just so you know, this is the wrong size."

"Oh, I'm sorry," says Gwaine, "We'll make sure to ask Gwen where she got the other dress from, next time."

"Come on, where are my clothes, guys?" Leon says, the skirt gently blowing in the breeze. It barely reaches past his knees – and they all start laughing again.

For some reason, he's brought his sword, anyway, as though he'd lead the knights into practice in the far too tight dress if necessary, because nothing short of disaster would ever stop him from doing his duty; and suddenly, it's the funniest thing Merlin's seen in a long time. He's hiccupping with laughter before he knows it, tears streaming down his face, Gwaine slinging an arm around his shoulder and pulling him into their circle, where they're all just grinning at one another, satisfied with a joke well-played, and after, he feels lighter, like he can finally breathe again.

*

That night, when he steps into Arthur's chambers after dinner, there's a game of chess set out on the table.

"He told me that you two played chess together all the time," Arthur says, looking a little flushed. "So let's see your supposedly legendary skills, then."

Merlin admits to himself, then, that Arthur's been trying to reach out to him in his own way for weeks, while Merlin was busy ignoring him and staring off into space. He sits down, slowly, feels his chest contract again slightly at the memory, and picks up a random pawn to move it.

He expects Arthur to say something, anything, but instead he's unusually quiet, seemingly focused on the game if not for the fact that he keeps casting glances at Merlin.

Finally, after half an hour in which Merlin somehow seems to be winning, Arthur says, in the gravest of tones, "Is there something on your mind? That you'd like to share with me?"

It sounds so awkward that Merlin can't help it: he bursts into laughter all over again, because apparently now that he's started, he can't stop.

"What?" says Arthur, confused, and possibly a little offended.

"You realise I have no actual idea what the rules of the game are, don't you?"

"Well, now you mention it, your strategy does seem to be rather… creative."

"And you were going to let me win, anyway? Oh, you must really like me," Merlin laughs, and then bites his tongue when he realises what he's just said.

"I suppose I do," Arthur concedes quietly. "I don't have that many friends, Merlin, not really. So I'd better make sure to keep the ones I do have happy, hadn't I?"

"I guess so," Merlin says, feeling a trickle of warmth worm its way into his chest, as Arthur searches his face for a few moments.

"So," he says, brightly, apparently having found whatever he was looking for, "is there something I can do to help?"

"… As a matter of fact, there is," Merlin says, after a while.

"Let's hear it." Arthur gestures for him to continue.

Merlin bites his lip, and stands up, walking around the table. He smiles a little, before he says, "Actually, I could do with a hug."

"A hug?" Arthur says, like he thinks Merlin is joking.

But when Merlin doesn't say anything, after the moment stretches, he slowly gets up, looks around the room as though checking for spectators, and awkwardly wraps his arms around Merlin's back.

Merlin presses his hands to Arthur's shoulder blades, and hugs him back, fiercely, and somehow, everything he's been trying not to think of for weeks, for months, years perhaps, comes bubbling to the surface: he's afraid, so afraid of all the things that could go wrong between them – afraid that Arthur will hate him for his magic, afraid that he'll hate him for all his lies, afraid that Arthur will forgive him and that they will build Albion together, but that they will never be friends again.

He can feel himself shaking slightly, starting to fall apart – wants to pull back, but suddenly the hug stops feeling like a fight; Arthur relaxes, lets Merlin haul him closer until there is no space between them at all, and places his hands over Merlin's spine, covering all the places Merlin's cold until he finally feels warm again.

When they let go, it feels like a part of him has clicked back into place, or perhaps found its way there for the first time, he doesn't know, but when Arthur clears his throat and passes a hand through his hair, all he can do is smile.

"Well, that was – different," Arthur says, but there's something soft about his eyes, belying his dismissive words. "Did it help?"

"Yeah. It did." And in that moment Merlin feels quite sure that they will be all right, because it's them, and they can't let each other down, not really, no matter what happens. "And just so you know, I'm not going anywhere. You can't get rid of me that easily, I promise," he says, echoing Arthur's earlier words.

"Good," Arthur says. "Now that's sorted, do you care to explain to me how you played chess for three weeks, yet don't seem to remember any of the rules."

"Ah," Merlin says. "That… wasn't quite how we played it. It went more something like this." He picks up one of his tiny knights and throws it at Arthur's chest.

"Excuse me?" Arthur says, indignant.

"See? Now that earned me three points."

He's not quite sure who ends up winning, but then he can't bring himself to care at all, not with Arthur grinning bright and their future quietly unfurling, and all Merlin can do is grin back and take a chance, trust in Arthur and in hope, and do it with all of his heart.

*

"Be careful," Merlin says much, much later. "The people would like their king to come home in one piece."

"People like you?" Arthur asks, pressing his forehead to Merlin's, and Merlin laughs, "Yeah, that too," before pressing his mouth to Arthur's for a moment, and directing him into the centre of the rune circle.

*

It takes Merlin three days to rewrite the spell in a way that should bring Arthur back.

If he waits three weeks to perform it, well, he has to be sure those creatures are vanquished, after all.

He smiles to himself, humming a cheerful tune, and goes to stir a potion.


End file.
